


Rock the Boat

by Kako_Pumpkin



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Heroes Pending, Pre-Orfaer City, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 20:19:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7237000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kako_Pumpkin/pseuds/Kako_Pumpkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Persephone's already long day is about to get even longer, with a scouting gone wrong, a floating prison, and a bunch of captured soldiers much too young to die.</p><p>This is the first story that's actually been completed, out of the dozens of attempts to kick-start something solid out of a universe that's been over ten years in the making; Heroes Pending (co-creater Varzy). Here's to moving forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rock the Boat

It was difficult to be afraid of anything when you were practically immortal. So instead of panicking, Persephone kneeled in the little cold cell of the moving prison and waited for the ideal moment when she would coalesce into blue flames and disappear without so much as a whisper.

Yes, their mistake had been to give her a room with a window, although room was a _very_ loose term seeing as she was locked in a cage of all things. The draft and icy dripping water was meant to inspire despair and fear into the occupants of the long row of rocking cages, she was sure, but all that told her was that there was a way out. Unfortunately, just moments before her smooth departure – when the guards were distracted by something on their radios, and had their backs fully turned towards her – she realised that almost every single cage was occupied. And because once she noticed, she could no longer stop noticing, she saw that the people were mostly soldiers, young men and women, _so_ young, scuffed with blood and dirt and dressed in several types of green or grey uniform.

She wondered if Cinderella had been captured yet. She wondered how big the moving prison was. She wondered if Daphne has seen this coming. 

There were so many witnesses. She couldn’t get out of this one unscathed. 

Leaning forward a little, she tried to get a better view at the guards. Six of them. And these were hard men and women, who had done terrible things and probably enjoyed them. She could use her fire to scorch away the defences they had built against their empathy, but she didn’t enjoy using that technique on hardened criminals. At best, it reduced them to blubbering wrecks. At worst…well, monsters weren’t known for their well-rounded coping mechanisms. 

The radio chattered and thankfully two of the guards left, marching down rattling metal steps. Were they on a boat or a gigantic motorcar? Probably boat, although the idea sat badly with her. It meant that whatever had knocked her out while she was doing reconnaissance had been strong enough to override her fire’s defences and keep her unconscious long enough for them – whoever they were – to find her, haul her back to their prison, and throw her in a cage. The area she had been carefully scouting was several miles away from the sea. 

No part of this situation boded well, but she was (presumably, still) in the middle of a war zone. The key to survival was adaptability. 

Her knees were completely soaked through and her tangled curly hair was coming loose from the braids she had ferociously wound about her head two days before. When she moved her hand to push her hair back, she saw a movement mirrored in the cage opposite to her. She was being watched. 

The lad was young, but strong, broad and tall – an ideal soldier. His black hair was desperately mussed and dirty, though she could tell it had once been quite neatly cut, and his skin was deeply tanned. Although he was lying nearly face down in the spoiled water along the floor, when he smiled at her it was like he wasn’t even feeling any pain at all. Like they weren’t stuck in cages on a moving prison, travelling to who knew where. 

“You’re not a soldier,” he said. She glanced at the mercenaries standing by the radio. Two of them had headphones on, and the others were trying to listen in. The young man tried to move, but gave it up as a bad effort. His smile, this time, was tinged with tired resignation – he must have been very badly injured. 

“It’s okay,” he said, inclining his head towards the guards. “They can’t hear us well. There’s too much echo in between us and their station. So long as we stay quiet, we can talk.” 

Persephone slid closer to the edge of her cage. “And why would I want to talk?” 

“…you’re not afraid, are you?” 

She debated answering, but the boy was so young, and he was dying. “No.” 

"Why?” 

“I have a way out.” 

This seemed to light some kind of fire within the young man – understandably so, of course. “Can you get the others out?” 

Persephone pressed the fingers of one hand against the bars of the cage. It would be so easy…just to escape. Wisp away. But she had already lost family in this war, and was too old by now to deny she hated watching children die. She was too deep in, now. She was in too deep the second Cinderella showed up on her doorstep. 

“I don’t know,” she said, honestly. “I would have to get the keys. It’s not necessarily a problem, but I don’t know how many mercenaries are in this place.” 

“There are only two floors,” said the young man. “One where they torture and question, and the other where they hold people – here. And somewhere in between they must sleep and eat, but I’ve never seen them do this.” 

“You keep your eye out.” Persephone approved. The young man cracked a smile; his face was still the only part of him that had moved. 

“I’ll give up when I’m dead,” he said, but it sounded like he was quoting something. When his eyes closed, Persephone made her decision. Each cage was occupied with someone who was far too young to die. So she pressed her hand against the metal of the cage, called upon her Paragon, and dissolved into blue fire. 

The world became a glorious ricochet of violet, silver, indigo and the purest shade of blue imaginable. Soundlessly within the second she streamed to the guard table, reformed, swiped two knives out of two separate holsters and cut the throats of three of the mercenaries. The last she kept alive, although she pressed both knives convincingly underneath each ear. 

“How do you release the prisoners?” she asked. His eyes darted all over her face; another second and he would try something that would most certainly end with his death, so she took a shortcut and allowed a little wisp of remorse-inducing blue to trail from her fingertip straight into his soul. Immediately he face contorted with anguish. 

“Oh – they – oh no,” he said, and she released him as he began to scramble for the console. There was a complex array of buttons and knobs, and his shaking hands pressed one after the other. The clanging of opening gates began to fill the air. 

“Yes, it was a terrible thing you did,” said Persephone. “You’ll cover for us while I help them take over this ship, won’t you?” 

The mercenary turned his wild eyes to her, face pale with horror. “You – I can’t! They’ll kill me – you don’t understand –” 

“I understand,” she said, leaning forward. “I understand very well, believe me. I know they will kill you. But…” She let little blue wisps trail around her fingertips and almost felt bad for the flinch he gave. “ _I_ will make you _feel._ ” 

She left him shivering on his chair as she strolled back down the long walkway, watching as prisoners of varying degrees of health suspiciously examine their open gates and begin to free themselves. She ignored all in favour of the only one who wasn’t moving. 

“Hello, kid,” she said, leaning into his cage. Was he asleep, passed out, or dead? She could do something about the first two, but the last was beyond even her abilities. No time like the present to try – so she called up her flame again and place her hand on his neck, where the heartbeat was supposed to show, and she let the fire drift over him and sink into his skin. Immediately he showed improvement; his cheeks flushed, his breathing grew stronger, and his dark eyelashes started to flutter. He groaned. She became aware then, that she had an audience; most of them were obviously from different armies or regiments, or however that worked out nowadays, but all of them were watching her heal the nearly-corpse of their fellow. 

“Can you do that for all of us?” asked one woman. She had a long ugly gash along her collarbone where something had sliced right through her body armour. Persephone wouldn’t be surprised if it was infected and hurting like a bitch, but the woman wasn’t even swaying. 

“Sure,” she said, because hey, why the hell not, right? It was too late now to hide some of her abilities. “Everybody take each other’s hand – it’s easier to transfer by touch.” 

She was surprised by how quickly they all complied, and toyed with asking them to keep quiet about the fire – she’d manage to keep it a secret for a couple of thousand years, but no, she just had to get involved in another war. One of these days Cinderella would grow out of wanting to save the world and then Persephone would be able to rest happily on her luxurious island, ignorant of the worries and cares of the world in general. 

But she wasn’t there yet. She was on a moving prison and now had an awful lot of people to protect. So she called up her blue fire and sent it like a prayer along the lines of the soldiers; _keep the children safe and healed._ Murmurs of awe and disbelief rose among the ranks as bones knitted, burns soothed, and infected cuts magically purged and healed themselves. 

“Can you bottle that, sweetheart?” One soldier called out; beneath the bravado there was an awful shakiness that Persephone recognised, so she didn’t mind the littered laughter that followed. Do what you need to survive. 

“I’m not tired anymore,” said the first woman, fingering her collarbone. “Or hungry, or thirsty…” 

“Those sensations will pass,” said Persephone. “The wounds are healed but the hunger, thirst and fatigue will return if you don't rest soon. While we’re in top shape we need to secure this – whatever it is.” 

“Fortress,” said someone. “It’s on the water. It’s not as big as it looks – just two levels, not including the navigation room and bunks.” 

A hand landed gently on her shoulder. Persephone turned to see the dark-haired young man, a good two heads taller than her now that he was standing, extend his other hand her way. His chin and shoulders had probably been chiselled from stone, but the pure sincerity in his brown eyes kept away the arrogance that would have normally stained a bone structure like his. 

“Thank you,” he said. “Manwell Manfredi. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Persephone Jones,” she replied, eyeing the hand but declining to take it. He didn’t seem to take offence, simply smiling and folding himself away in the manner that very tall people sometimes did; pulling his arms tight to his side and straightening his shoulders. The woman with the fixed collarbone – as well as a few others with uniforms that matched his – looked unspeakably relieved that the comrade was well again. 

“When they took you for questioning, we thought you were going to die,” she said quietly, clasping hands with him. 

“I would have, if it wasn’t for an unexpected ally,” said Manfredi, glancing again at Persephone. “And if we’re alive, that means we can keep trying.” 

“We have no weapons,” said someone. 

“We have a few weapons,” corrected Manfredi. “We also have our own training, stealth, and the element of surprise. We take the weapons that we can find, and work on eliminating the mercenaries one by one. If we take navigation, we take control of the ship.” 

“She could just fly up!” said one soldier, pointing to Persephone. “She could burn them to cinders!” 

“It doesn’t work like that,” said Persephone, leaning away from the soldier's finger and withholding a sigh. It was the same story, every time; she helped people and they immediately thought of the most destructive purpose for her powers. Of course, that might have had something to do with the fact that when she saved someone it was usually in a high-pressure situation and her powers seemed like a free ticket to safety. Still, it grated. Already she was feeling the urge to disassemble and fly away from all the stares; centuries of solitude weren't particular useful for large groups of panicked and traumatised soldiers. 

“I think it’s well established that the fire heals,” said collarbone lady sharply. “It doesn’t burn anything.” 

Not strictly true, but they didn’t want to see what the fire could do if it actually found something to burn. It was a very rare occurrence, and actually quite unpleasant. Not that these kids needed to know the full extent of her abilities; they would think of the benefit instead of all the detractions that accompanied it. Everything has a price. 

“I can scout,” she said wearily. “My fire is bright blue, so subtlety is out, but I could blind them and give you a chance to disarm them.” 

Before anyone could say anything, the radio screeched, and as one they all turned to the guard. Tears were streaming down his face as he murmured the code words before flicking the microphone on silent. 

“They’re coming,” he said, trembling in his seat. “The others were due on patrol and they haven’t signed in. Three are coming down now.” 

“We have no cover,” said Collarbone. “These cages are useless. No weapons.” 

“Some weapons,” corrected Persephone, quickly kneeling and relieving the corpses of their weapons. “Hmm. And some shelter. Sort of.” 

“If bodies were of any use shielding bullets we’d all be home by now,” said Collarbone, but she and a few others dragged the bodies underneath the rickety metal staircase that led to the upper levels, it being ostensibly the only viable point of defence. Other busied themselves with relieving the guard of his table and headphones, using it as further protection. While this was going on, Manwell caught her eye and moved close. 

“You can distract them with your blue fire?” he asked. 

“All we’ll have is surprise,” she agreed. 

“You made him…remorseful. Could you do that to the rest of the ship’s crew?” 

Persephone hesitated before answering. There was always that dislike of doing other people’s work for them. No, not dislike - more like fear. She could fight and kill but she wasn't a soldier and this wasn't her territory, literally or figuratively. These soldiers weren’t her team, after all, and were sufficiently trained to have a good chance of overcoming their odds; on top of that, they _needed_ to fight their way out. They needed to learn that in war sometimes there was _only_ the hard way, and no good or easy option. Saving them could be the quickest way to ruining their chances for survival. 

That said, they were children, barely out of their twenties. She didn’t want to watch them die. 

“I could,” she finally said. “But believe me, that’s a last resort. At best, they might kill themselves…at worst…” 

“At worst?” 

“…they just might not care. Sometimes that happens – their lives are too dark and their hearts so empty that there’s nothing to tug on, no conscience to awake. Believe me, ambush and attack is a much more straightforward solution than spreading my flames about this ship. At least the effect of a bullet is fairly predictable.” 

She also didn’t want to mention that the longer she used that flame the more it affected her the same way it affected her victims. In the middle of a war zone was the worst place to bring yourself too low to get up again. Nobody questioned her at least; even Manwell didn’t disagree, although it didn’t look like he understood what she had said, either. Well, long may he keep that innocence, if war hadn’t already stripped it from him. Metal clanged against metal; the door was opening at the top of the stairs. They were out of time. 

Calling her flame, Persephone rushed the entrance, flooding their line of sight. Bullets passed through her harmlessly, and she shifted from flesh to flame and back to flesh as she twisted arms, stole guns, and kicked in kneecaps. The transition was silky smooth and flawless after centuries of practice, and there were only three guards. It took her less than a minute to take them down.  
Of course, this was the easy part. The journey above was yet to come, and there was no telling what was up there. At least now they had six more guns and a few more knives, as much good as they could be. 

“We’ll be completely exposed on the stairs,” said Manwell. “We’ll need to scout ahead –” 

“Why don’t you just take care of all of them?” snapped another soldier. This one was older, with bloody clothing and old, messy scars along his neck. “We all saw the way she dealt with those three; she could take the whole ship if she wanted to. Why risk our lives?” 

Manwell levelled a very stern frown at the man and Persephone gritted her teeth. Before either of them could say anything, Collarbone stepped forward, her hand very firmly on her purloined gun. 

“That’s right,” she said. Persephone liked her tone of voice, and her temper simmered, waiting. “We did see her take out those guards. And heal us. And set us free. And give us an escape route. She likely could take out the entire boat by herself. Well guess what – so could we. We're not letting someone else fight for us. We're better soldiers than that, and these mercenaries stole some of our friends. I say we make sure they regret that." 

Manwell nodded, stepping next to her. “This floor isn't defensible; we can't stay here and hope to survive. But if we take the upper floor we have a shot. We didn’t join this war to sit on our asses –” 

“Some of us didn’t join this war at all!” snapped Messy Scars. 

“Yet war is here,” said Persephone, holding up her hands. The longer she looked at the man, the more she understood; his eyes were nearly white, his shoulders tense, his face already slick with sweat. Fear was a terrible motivator...albeit no less aggravating to be on the other end of. “What are we going to do about it?” 

“We’re going to fight,” said Manwell decisively, and Persephone envied the surety of youth and forthrightness. 

“We’re going to die,” said Messy Scars. “We’re all going to die on this boat.” 

“Well, I want to fight,” said Collarbone. Fortunately, it seemed that the majority agreed with her. There was nothing like the prospect of otherwise dying like dogs in a gutter to join an unlikely group of prisoners together, after all. Not to mention the prospect of paying back a few pounds of flesh to their captors. 

“I’ll take scouting position,” said Persephone. Cinderella usually preferred point, but it surely couldn’t be that hard. The basic principle seemed to be: Run Into Trouble Before It Has A Chance To Run Into You. 

Without further ado, and conscious of the clanging that heralded the doors opening, Persephone melted into flames and rushed up the stairs, blinding the guards that came through the door. She deliberately kept the flames neutral; not hot or cold, although they were blindingly blue at that point. Once she was past them she hovered for a moment in open air, gauging her surroundings. It was a fairly simple layout; it looked as though the whole ship had been gutted. The stairs behind her connected to a gate that ran the perimeter of the wide, long room and the interior was totally bare aside from the floor, which had several mats (covered in very suspicious stains). It was fairly obvious the entire thing was some kind of observation room; the mats looked to be the kind used for hand-to-hand training. Maybe they had the prisoners fight one another to see who was the strongest, said a very nasty part of her mind. Yes, but for what? Experimentation? Training? Maybe it was just a communal room, like for exercise. 

Yeah. 

Naturally her gut wasn’t buying it. Honestly there wasn’t anything she’d put past the human race at this point. She moved past it – she could stream right through the bars but luckily the guards hadn’t locked it behind them. The floor was empty, but there was the sound of thudding footsteps everywhere above, so she moved on, towards the only door on the other side of the room. Up another set of narrow stairs – this ship had definitely undergone alterations, she’d never seen anything like it – and then along a narrow corridor. More people appeared at the end of it and she flooded their eyes with blue fire, twisting away their guns. The freed troops were either behind her or not; either way they would find their enemies greatly distressed. 

Up again, and there was a definite lack of opponents; suspiciously so. It wouldn’t do to get cocky now, even if it was a fight against non-powered humans. So she melted up through the gaps in the ceiling and re-formed herself in what looked to be the navigation room, if the wide windows, equipment, and great view were any indication. Boats were more Cinderella’s thing. 

There was only one figure, standing by the largest window, draped in a black coat. Persephone didn’t bother with stealth; it was heading into twilight and whoever it was had likely seen the blue flame in the reflection already. The person whipped around; it was a woman, not quite elderly, and entirely dressed in black. She opened her mouth to speak but Persephone beat her to it. 

“Scientist?” she said. The woman looked confused. 

“No – well, yes – but –” 

“Were you experimenting on the soldiers?” 

The woman looked astonished, but didn’t deny it. In fact, after a moment, she shook herself and tried to assume a sort of regal air. “Yes.” 

“How many died?” 

The woman smiled indulgently. “Dear girl, this is war –” 

“Is it?! Goodness, I had no idea - I suppose that explains the bombs and p.o.w.s. Why were you experimenting on them?” 

The woman feigned moving forward gently, as though she were trying to placate her. Persephone saw the minute movement of a hand. She was expecting a gun… 

…not a slice of cold that ate at her core. 

Persephone dropped like a rock, curling in on herself. The cold was consuming her flames as fast as she could produce them. She could beat it – but she’d need time – 

Two neat black boots slowly walked into her frame of vision, blurred as it was. She was shifting from flame to flesh so quickly, her body operating on impulse, and it left her head and stomach spinning. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen another Paragon gifted,” the woman murmured. “They’re getting younger and younger…what _are_ they thinking of…” 

Persephone wheezed, struggling to move. The woman continued, gently nudging Persephone’s shoulder with her boot. “How old are you, dear? I am certainly much older, at any rate. Now, _you're_ wondering what I'm doing on this ship, and I'm going to tell you because I think you might be able to help me. Paragon attracts Paragon, and I'll just bet you know more of our kind! I'm looking for someone, my dear. A very specific person, of course, who has eluded me for centuries. I don’t know what they look like or what their abilities are, but I know that there is nothing they wouldn’t do to save their skin. The only way to flush them out was to eliminate every single place they could possibly hide in. Do you know the easiest way to do that?” 

Persephone thought of the bomb-stricken lands, the soldiers that flooded out of the streets and into the fields, forests and oceans, where they died. She choked again. Her flames fought back, and the cold began to recede, bit by bit. But it was strong, and so awful, and so hard to fight... 

“It is remarkably easy to start a war,” said the woman. “It required surprisingly little effort to rile those megalomaniacs and they practically did all the work themselves. The modern era we live in makes it both easier and far more difficult to track someone down, especially when they could have changed their names a dozen times over. Luckily it was very easy to convince heads of state to introduce mandatory conscription…and then it was just a matter of keeping an eye out.” 

“If…you didn’t…know their face…” 

“I know what to look for, by now. Every Paragon user is unique and very distinctive, and I happen to be very good at sniffing them out. I almost thought that it was you, but…no. They elude me still. But they can’t hide forever. Sooner or later this war will flush them out.” 

“Why…” 

“Because they have something I need. There are very few of us out there who have been gifted with the Paragon, but still, there are too many. Our abilities are gifts from the gods, and we are their heralds. But too many squander their abilities…like you. Hiding away, and when you’re not hiding you’re speaking with ghosts or wandering around like a nobody. You have immense power! And you–” 

Persephone’s arm shot out, clocking the woman right in her knee. The woman cried out and stumbled, and she took the opportunity to land a punch on the other woman’s chin. 

“I know what my power is,” she said, trembling still from the intense cold the woman had fed into her. But her flames were getting stronger, reappearing in bursts of light. “And I know what happens when it’s misused. Or overused. The world is already out of balance; the last thing it needs is a show of power from any of us.” 

“I agree!” gushed the woman, cheerful as though she hadn’t been struck twice. “That’s why I think there should only be one.” And she reached down to Persephone, one hand cloaked in white mist. 

Uh-oh. 

Persephone readied herself, calling up her flame, when the door burst open and shots rang out. The woman was hit square in the chest and she cried out, although she looked more irritated than frightened. She glared at the two interlopers, took another look at Persephone's rising flames, and simply faded into mist, drifting away through the cracks in the windows. 

“Oh my god,” blurted Collarbone, lowering her gun. “That was the Minister for Peace, Sarah Hart.” 

“Are you serious?!” said Persephone, and let herself be gently pulled up by Manwell, who had hooked his gun into his side holster and was offering both hands for help. 

“What was that thing?” he asked. 

“A long story,” replied Persephone, giving him a sharp glance. “How are the others?” 

“Ship is secure.” 

“Any casualties?” 

“Nothing whiskey and a bandage can’t fix.” 

“Good,” she said, shrugging herself loose and heading for the window. “I’ll be on my way then.” 

Collarbone moved forward, alarmed, although Manwell didn’t look in the least bit surprised. He did, however, look very disappointed. 

“Already?” he said. “But –” 

“I wasn’t meant to be here in the first place,” Persephone said, as gently as she could. “If my…colleagues found out I had revealed myself, I’d get the haranguing of my life – and it’s been a long life. And, I’m sorry, but…this isn’t my fight.” 

Manwell stuck out his hand, his square jaw set with determination. “Thank you,” he said, and Persephone felt the sincerity. Collarbone did the same, holstering her gun and holding out her hand. Persephone sighed and shook both. 

“Maybe we’ll see each other again?” said Manwell, but Persephone just smiled ruefully, thinking of the relative lifetime of a human being, and how being in a war zone typically shortened that lifetime exponentially. 

“Doubtful,” she replied, but softened it with a smile. Then she dissolved and disappeared, flowing out of the window and into the air as quickly as she could. Disappearing into the forest, she re-formed just beyond the sight of the ship and watched as it slowly stopped in the water and let down anchor. It wasn’t too far away from the shore; it would be simple enough for the captured soldiers to make it back to land, or even use the communication system to signal for help. They were capable people, and her work was done with them. 

Still, that white mist…at least she had an inkling of how they managed to capture her, and she wouldn’t be caught again by the same trick. But Cinderella – and the others – needed to be warned. Curse war and all it brought; when this was done she was never leaving her island again, Paragon be damned. 

As she sunk into the forest, she gave one last glance back to the ship, and sent out a well wish for the children she met there. After that, she drifted into blue flame, comfortable as a blanket, and floated off into the sky. She was very, very late for her rendezvous. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and crit are appreciated - I'm going to really be working out the characters and stories of Heroes Pending, because it's been too damn long since we started this journey and it's about frikkin time we have something - ANYTHING! - to show for it. Tumblr: http://kako-pumpkin.tumblr.com/


End file.
